


Tales from a Flower Shop

by Buckysaur



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (I mean how cute is that), Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Artist Steve Rogers, Awesome Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky has a mad crush on him, Bucky has cats, Flirting, Florist Steve Rogers, Fluff, HOW COULD THAT BE, M/M, Pining, Steve has mysterious skills?!, Tattoo Artist Bucky Barnes, Tattooshop AU, flowershop au, how is that an existing tag???, mentions of bullying, tattoo artist bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckysaur/pseuds/Buckysaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[No longer on hiatus as of May 2016]</p><p>Bucky has been pining after his next-door-store neighbour for an embarrassingly long time. When he locks himself out of his shop, he finally gets a chance to get to know the guy. (Which he does not <i>at all</i> enthusiastically grab and hold to his chest. The chance, that is. Steve Rogers remains to be seen.)</p><p>Natasha totally ships it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Bucky Forgets His Keys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Invisibilitie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Invisibilitie/gifts).



> So this is a work in progress that I started about a week ago! Normally I don't post WIPs, but, hey, gotta live life dangerously, right? 
> 
> This was written for my lovely JackJack (Invisibilitie), who (when asked for a Stucky prompt) asked me to write a flowershop/tattooshop AU. Voila! Alsjeblieft!
> 
> Enjoy! (I hope.)

Bucky curses as he goes through his pockets one more time. Sadly, it is in vain. His shop keys are nowhere to be found, and given that he can not remember doing his regular is-all-my-shit-in-my-pockets pat-down before leaving home this morning, he is pretty convinced that – well – he is _screwed_.

Twenty minutes later, just when his tattoo shop is supposed to be up and running, Bucky is sitting on his front steps reading a beat up copy of  _A Game of Thrones_ that Natasha lent him. He is sitting there because he knows Natasha will arrive with her set of spare keys in about thirty minutes, which is less time than it would take him to go all the way back home and back again. He sighs as he flips a page, and glances up when he hears the crunches of bicycle wheels rolling through the fresh layer of autumn leaves on his road.

“Morning, neighbour,” he says, nodding at Steve, the owner of the flower shop next door. Steven Grant Rogers looks about as little like a florist as Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson does. He has gorgeously toned arms, abs to dream about, and the enviable waist-to-shoulder ratio of a Dorito that literally  _can not_ be human.

Bucky may or may not have a bit of a crush going on.

Steve shoots him a surprised look, and waves back a greeting as he parks his bicycle against a tree. Effortlessly lifting a large, heavy-looking bag onto his shoulder ( _Hnng._ ) he walks towards Bucky.

“Not opening shop yet, James?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Bucky, please, and no. I seem to have misplaced my keys,” he answers, lifting his shoulders in a whacha-gonna-do kind of manner.

Steve smiles a lopsided smile. “Bucky,” he decides. Then, after hearing the rest of Bucky’s sentence he frowns. “That sucks.” They are quiet for a moment, Bucky awkwardly waving his book around in the air, and Steve swaying lightly from side to side as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Don’t… you have a spare somewhere?” he asks after a moment.

“Well, I know I left my keys at home,” Bucky admits with a sigh. “But the journey there and back takes about an hour, and Nat will be here in thirty. She has spare keys, so I figured I might as well enjoy some fiction and wait her out.”

“Fair enough,” Steve says. “Uhm…” Another moment of silence falls, and Bucky nods solemnly at the sentiment. Suddenly, an idea seems to come to Steve, and his face lights up like a Christmas tree at dusk. ( _You cannot legally be_ this _cute_ , Bucky may be thinking.) “I could pick the lock!” He exclaims, and then averts his eyes to the ground as a faint blush creeps up his neck to colour his cheeks. ( _Stop it._ ) “I mean– if that’s not super weird. I promise I won’t damage anything!”

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise, his eyebrows rising a bit to his hairline. “You can pick locks?” he asks, incredulously.

“Well– it’s not that hard.” Steve defends himself, squaring his shoulders as well as his jaw. The effect of it is slightly lessened by the blush that is still visible on his cheeks. “You just need the right tools, and a lot of patience.”

“You’re a  _florist_ ,” Bucky points out sceptically. “You arrange flowers for a living. How on Earth–”

Steve’s innocent expression turns into a mild scowl. “That doesn’t have anything to do with it.” He defends himself, and righteously so, Bucky realises.

Now it’s his turn to blush. “No– no, Steve, I’m sorry,” he says, getting up from his steps, and raising his hands in  what he hopes is a calming gesture. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m– Thank you for the offer, really. If you could pick my lock, at this point, honestly, you’d make my day,” he offers with an apologetic smile on his face.

Steve seems to deflate a bit, but it’s good, because the anger disappears from his face as well. Instead, a determined smile appears. He puts down his bag, and cracks his knuckles, after which he digs into his pocket and fishes out a set of intertwined paperclips. Bucky is slightly too distracted by Steve coming closer to step aside in time, so there is an awkward (amazing) moment where Steve’s bicep rubs against his chest, and then Steve is crouching on the top of Bucky’s steps with Bucky close behind him staring at his lock as Steve works whatever magic it is he has. Within thirty seconds, Bucky hears a click. Then, another, and the door swings open.

Bucky does  _not_ jump up and down clapping his hands like an excited six-year-old. He does not. He also does not hug his store-neighbour and he  _certainly_ does not hang on just a second too long to appreciate the firmness of his well-trained body pressed– Nope. None of that.

Bucky steps back quickly, and combs a hand through his hair, knowing it’s just going to mess it up more, but definitely not caring. (Messy hair looks hot, okay? It’s, like, a  _thing.)_

Steve laughs, and the sound of it melts over Bucky’s heart like warm honey. ( _If you get any cheesier, I swear to God–_ he thinks at himself.) “You’re welcome,” he says then, and his voice is, impossibly, even sweeter than his laugh.

Bucky has to admit that at that point he is swooning.

The thing is, before this, they never really talked that much. Sure, Bucky had exercised his best skills in stalkery and Google to find out as much as he could about Steve, but there was only so much the internet could tell him about the man’s personality (although his history of volunteer work at the local soup kitchen was very telling – Bucky is pretty certain Steve must have regularly rescued kittens from trees at some point in his life).

Steve had also introduced himself upon opening his store a few months ago, bringing along a gorgeous bouquet of flowers that somehow fit perfectly in the aesthetic of Bucky’s store, and Bucky had returned the courtesy by offering Steve a free tattoo or piercing – something the other has sadly not taken him up on just yet.

Bucky wishes Steve would take him up on it sometime. He would love to ink something beautiful onto that golden skin.

Bucky’s moment of daydreaming falls apart when Steve steps away. “Anyway, I should probably get going. I still need to open up shop…” His voice trails off as he shoots Bucky a questioning look.

It’s at that point that Bucky realises he must have been staring. He shoots Steve a quick sample of his trademark shit-eating grin. “Definitely, me too… I’m late as it is, and my first appointments should be coming in soon.” He rests his hand on his door, thumb absentmindedly exploring the texture of the paint. A few pieces of it flake away under his touch. “Ya. Uhm. Thanks a bunch, again. Really. You’re a life-saver.”

Steve’s smile is blinding in all the right ways. “Not a problem! Anything I can do to help a good neighbour out.” He trods down Bucky’s steps. (Bucky does not feel an urge to reach out and pull him back – invite him on for a coffee, or a k– No. He does not.)

He waves a last goodbye, wishes Steve a good day, and disappears behind the walls of his shop. He spends a few seconds furiously shaking his head, as if to chase all remaining thoughts of Steve away.


	2. In Which Bucky's Insides Ride A Rollercoaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha knows everything. Bucky visits Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my plan of frequently posting short chapters has dissolved into now posting one long(er) chapter. There's more to come, and hopefully soon, now that my exams are over!
> 
> Beta read by the lovely trill_gutterbug!
> 
> Sorry if you got two update emails, AO3 fudged up the formatting immensely the first time around.

The rest of the day goes by in a bit of a blur. It’s not that Bucky is unaware that he’s living it – on the contrary, he _needs_ to be aware. He can’t exactly go about poking people with ink-laden needles if he’s giddily rolling around in the clouds in his head. Nevertheless, he doesn’t quite feel as conscious of being in his body as he usually does.

He jerks up when a bell rings, indicating someone just entered the shop, but relaxes again when he sees it's Natasha. It isn't even a full second after she lays her eyes on him when she raises a _very_ judgmental eyebrow. Bucky can’t quite manage a glare.

“What’s with the stupid grin?” she asks casually as she strips out of her motor suit. (Bucky has long since learnt not to watch her too closely when she does that. Natasha can be a vicious, vicious person.)

“Nothing,” he mutters defensively, and moves his eyes back to the design he is working on. It’s for his arm, an elaborate image of metal plating and bolts to go around the star already etched into his shoulder. His goal is to create a piece of art that goes down all the way to his fingertips. He’s been working on the idea for several years now, and he wants it to be perfect before he inks it into his skin.

Natasha scoffs, walks around the counter, and drops her bag as well as her biking gear on the floor next to his stool. She leans heavily on his shoulders, her arms folded over each other as she peers at his sketchbook. “I sure didn’t miss the identical grin ‘nothing’ had on his face as he waved me good morning just now,” she tells him then, her lips right next to his ear.

Bucky resolutely flips the page over to a blank one. He can _feel_ Natasha roll her eyes just outside of his line of sight. “Steve doesn’t have a stupid grin,” he counters, only to feel his face heat up when he realises he just admitted to thinking about someone he was definitely _not_ thinking about. Nope. Not at _all_.

Natasha leans forward into his field of vision. Bucky winces when he sees her smile of victory. “You can’t expect yourself to have 20/20 vision when your eyes are clouded with _loooove,_ ” she coos.

Bucky thumps his forehead onto the table. Today is going to be a very, _very_ long day.

 

* * *

 

After he closes up shop and wishes Natasha a good night, Bucky lingers behind on the sidewalk, subtly checking Steve’s shop windows as he drops his spare keys back into the shop's mail box.

There are still lights burning inside the flower shop, albeit not the brighter ones that are usually on when it is open. The sign on the door has been flipped over to its ‘CLOSED’ side. After a quick look-around to see if Natasha is still nearby (thankfully, she doesn’t seem to be – he doesn’t even want to know what kind of comments she’d throw his way) he walks over and knocks on the window.

It doesn’t take long for Steve’s face to appear between two large, bushy plants. The green kind old people always seem to have in their front yards. (Bucky is not a plant expert, okay. He doesn’t know the names of all of these… springy things. He’s an ink-and-metal kind of guy.) Steve half-gestures to the sign on the door before it seems to dawn on him that it’s Bucky standing by the door, and not some wayward customer. (Bucky does _not_ do an awkward wiggly-wavey thing with his fingers. He just stands there like the cool macho he is, blue steeling away in the ever reddening light of the setting sun. He looks _very_ badass.)

“Afternoon, neighbour,” Steve greets him with a friendly grin as he opens the door. “I hope you didn’t lock yourself out again?”

Bucky laughs. “As much as I’d love to give you another chance to be my knight in shining armour – no. I’ve actually come say thank you again for helping me out. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have had to cancel two of my earlier appointments. You’ve saved me from having to disappoint two customers.” Also, he still feels like a bit of a jerk for making fun of Steve knowing how to pick locks.

A faint pink flush washes over Steve’s cheeks. It’s definitely not adorable. Bucky is too cool to think in terms like ‘adorable.’ Or ‘cute.’ Or ‘cuddlable’ ... is that even a word? “You woulda done the same for me. It’s really no problem at all! Would you like to come inside? Have a drink, maybe?” Steve pulls the door open a bit further to let Bucky in.

Bucky smirks. “If I do, will you tell me how you – a _florist_ – learnt to pick locks?”

Steve smiles what may just be the sweetest smile Bucky has seen from him so far. “Perhaps,” he replies coyly. Bucky redirects all his attention to keeping his insides solid, lest he be reduced to a puddle on Steve’s doorstep.

Instead, he laughs, and follows Steve inside the flower shop. He instantly realises that despite his many attempts to get to know Steve, he’s never actually been inside. (The problem lies in their business hours, whenever Steve’s shop is open, Bucky’s is too, and he can’t exactly leave to flirt with his neighbour whenever he pleases. No matter how much he might want to.)

The shop is light and cosy, just like Steve himself seems to be. The wall on the far right is filled with all kinds of plants sitting on several levels of shelves. To the left are several trays with what are now empty buckets and vases, into which Bucky assumes the fresh flowers go every morning. Towards the back of the store is a counter, much like Bucky's own, except a little lower, with all kinds of decoration paraphernalia stacked on top of it as well as a MacBook with the Apple logo lighting up on the back.

For some reason he can't quite grasp, however, Bucky’s favourite aspect of the store by far is the faded wooden floor, which creaks slightly under their feet as they make it to the counter. It adds a bit of imperfection to the place, which somehow gives him a sense of _home_.

Bucky whistles a long, low tone of appreciation as he looks around. “You’ve got a great store here, Rogers. Never knew a flower shop could be this nice and non-threatening.”

Steve turns around on his heel and leans forward onto the counter, raising an eyebrow at Bucky. “Non-threatening?” he inquires. “This coming from the guy who owns a _tattoo parlor_. Talking about a _flower store_.”

Bucky shrugs defensively, stubbornly meeting Steve’s eyes. “Flower stores are very intimidating,” he claims, crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve snorts, the corners of his mouth perking up into an amused smile. “Alright, well, do not fear. I will protect you from the flesh-eating plants,” he teases.

Bucky grins, and pulls one of the high stools from underneath the counter to sit on. With the stools around it, it's almost a bar. “You better. ‘Death by Plant’ is such an uncool grave inscription. I’m not a zombie.”

Steve laughs as he snaps the MacBook shut, and puts what looks like a notebook, followed by a copy of _The Hobbit_ onto the lid. “What kind of drink would you like? I’ve got coffee, tea... a beer?”

“I just finished a demanding day of work – I think I deserve a beer.” He pauses. “If you’ve got that, amidst the lilies and roses.” He winks. Somehow, he feels like he knows Steve much better than he really does. Like they’ve been friends for a long time, and he’s forgotten about it. Something about being around the man and bantering with him just feels natural. Easy.

“What’s between the lilies and roses is alright, but the real good stuff is hidden behind the sunflowers,” Steve tells him, and it sounds like he’s entrusting Bucky with a big secret of some kind of another. Bucky can’t help but grin like an idiot.

About an hour and several bottles of beer later Bucky is leaning over the counter, watching Steve as he animatedly tells a story about a customer who got angry at him that day, insisting that there had been a coffee shop at Steve's place a week earlier. Apparently, the man had threatened to call the police if Steve refused to tell him where the coffee shop had moved to.

Bucky shakes his head when Steve is done, chuckling, and takes another swig of his beer bottle. "That's insane. I can't believe people like that actually _exist._ Much less that they are somehow functional members of society."

Steve nods. "Amen, neighbour," he says, and raises his bottle to clink it against Bucky’s.

A companionable silence falls over them as they sip their beers. After swallowing, Bucky clears his throat. “So." He shoots Steve a mischievous smile and raises one of his eyebrows. "I believe you still owe me an explanation.” He pauses purely for dramatic purposes. “How _did_ you learn to pick locks?”

Steve shrugs, a soft pink washing over his cheeks once more as he slides his gaze over to look at the stack consisting of his MacBook, notebook and… actual book. “It’s kind of silly, actually.”

Bucky chuckles at the mere motion of _Steve_ being silly. Steve, who is without a doubt nothing but _wonderful._ “I doubt that. Anything leading to such a badass skill has _got_ to be a cool story.”

Steve shoots him a dry look. “You’d be surprised.”

Bucky licks his lips, suddenly feeling courageous, and leans further over the counter, into Steve’s space. He grins a toothy grin. “Well then. Surprise me.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, leaning back on his stool, seemingly unaffected by Bucky's proximity, even as he shifts away from him. "Well, you know... I was bullied in high school."

"You? _Bullied_?" Bucky asks, incredulously.

Steve shoots him a look that is painfully similar to one of Natasha's, clearly communicating _Shush. "_ Doyou _wanna_ hear the story?"

Bucky dutifully stays quiet, sipping his beer to keep his mouth occupied. Listening is not one of his strongest suits.

"I was a scrawny kid. I mean – _super_ scrawny," Steve continues, once he seems confident that Bucky won't interrupt him again. "I had, like, all the scrawny-kid issues; asthma, not very good at sports..."

"But you're–!" Bucky kind of gestures at the whole of him, unable to keep his mouth shut for longer than – apparently – three sentences. "You know...?!"

Steve shakes his head. "Yeah, well, puberty eventually kicked in. Few years too late if you ask me... But, anyway; I was bullied, at first it was just name-calling, but at some point this... trend came. Of snapping locks onto stuff I owned." He shrugs and pauses to take a final sip of his bottle, tilting his head all the way back to catch the last few drops.

(Bucky's eyes are absolutely not plastered to Steve's throat as he swallows. Nope. Hes not some kind of _creep_!)

"They'd lock the zippers of my backpack together so I couldn't get my book out, or put an extra lock on my locker so I wouldn't be able to get my stuff and I'd be late to class, or even miss the bus in the winter and have to walk home. In summer they'd lock my bicycle to the fence so I'd have to wait for my mum to get home from work to pick me and it up."

"That's... awful," Bucky says, the aftertaste of beer in his mouth going sour as his insides flare with anger. "Didn't anyone do anything? A classmate? A teacher? The principal?"

Steve shrugs again, shaking his head as he reaches for a new bottle of beer. He expertly slams it down onto the counter, the cap flying off without spilling a drop of the contents. Steve's arm flexes as he does it, beautifully showcasing the hard muscles underneath his skin. (Bucky is not drooling. Bucky is _far_ too busy being an attentive and polite listener for any of that nonsense.)

"Nah, they played it off as childish pranks," Steve elaborates. "No one really thought it was a serious problem."

Bucky huffs angrily. More than once in his high school career had he needed to stand up for some kid or another because none of the adults who were _supposed_ to protect them seemed to care. "Fuck them," he mutters.

"Right?" Steve agrees. "But, anyway, I couldn't exactly take bolt cutters to school, since – you know – they would call the police. So I ordered a lock picking set off eBay and... learnt how to work it."

Bucky's eyebrows climb to his hairline. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Steve says, sounding ridiculously unimpressed with himself. (Bucky is impressed. Bucky is _very_ impressed.) "Eventually, once I got really good at it, the bullies gave up." Steve smiles at him. "But I never really forgot how to do it. It's a handy skill. So, nowadays, when I lock myself out of my house with the keys still on the kitchen counter, I just pick the lock."

Bucky laughs. "Moral of the story: lock picking is not only a cool skill, but also very handy when you're a forgetful person?"

"Pretty much." Steve pauses, and then shoots him a shy smile. "And it helps when you're trying to make friends."

Bucky can _feel_ his face light up in unison with Steve's, only to have to fight not to let it darken when he hears the rest of the sentence. "Yeah... a friend..." he replies, his voice warm even as he feels insides twist uncomfortably.

Before, when Steve had invited him in and offered him a drink, he'd had an inkling of hope that maybe Steve was as interested in Bucky as Bucky is in Steve. And the fact that he'd just shared a story about his childhood didn't exactly do anything to counter that feeling.

Bucky had unconsciously slipped into a feeling of comfort while talking with Steve. No longer the fumbly-mumbly-stumbly guy he'd been when knocking on Steve's window. He'd felt _confident_ that Steve knew what was going on.

Now he just feels friend-zoned, and he feels like a dick for feeling it, too. Because Steve has every right to see him as nothing but a friend. He's likely not even into men.

"...ky? Bucky?"

Bucky blinks back into existence, and realises Steve is snapping his fingers in front of his eyes, a worried look on his face. "Oh, I'm sorry," Bucky stammers.

Steve shoots him an odd smile. "You spaced out there for a second, you okay?"

Bucky nods, and then puts his beer down, stretching and yawning theatrically. "Yeah, I'm fine, just getting a bit sleepy. A long day of work followed by a few beers will do that to a guy, you know?"

Steve's worried face melts away under the warmth of the not-adorable smile he shoots Bucky. "Very true." He checks his watch. "Oh, darn! It's late! No wonder you're nodding off on me. I'm sorry about that, I know we both have to get up early tomorrow to open shop. You, even earlier than me."

Bucky (once he is over the fact that Steve just said 'darn' – _out loud_ ) checks his watch as well, and winces when he sees the time. "Yeah, I should probably start heading home, before my cats destroy my bed out of sheer indignancy for being left alone for most of the day. Or topple over the fridge or something. They're tiny, but they're capable of _great_ trouble."

Steve's face scrunches up in a smile so sweet Bucky's brain has trouble even processing it. ( _Stop it, stupid, he's probably straight_ , he chastises himself.)

"You have _cats?_ " Steve asks then. "That's amazing! What are their names?"

"Pluto, Charon, Styx and Hydra," Bucky answers after a beat, his face heating up. "Don't judge. I had an astronomy phase in college."

Steve laughs. "I may be judging you a _little_ bit," he says then, his voice teasing in a way that does _things_ to Bucky. He manages to pull off an offended face, however, because _Steve is judging him._

"I mean," Steve continues. "Who calls a _cat_ Pluto? The poor thing. All his cat friends must be teasing him relentlessly. Giving him a cartoon dog's name."

Bucky laughs at that, and then laughs some more, and then looks at Steve and desperately wants to kiss him because, _damn_ , this man is _perfect._ But probably also straight. Which is what stops him from leaning in, and instead forces him off his stool.

There is an uncomfortable itch under his skin that tells him that if he doesn't get out within the next five minutes... well... _stuff_ might happen. And Steve might never want to talk to him and his stupid crush again.

"You're probably right. And if after giving him such a horrible name, I'm also home late, he'll certainly call some Egyptian cat god upon me to take revenge, so I better go," Bucky says.“I– had a really good time. I mean. As far as one can have a good time in a _flower shop_.” He clears his throat. ( _Real smooth, Bucky. No hot, blonde all-American booty for you._ ) “Anyway, it was nice getting to know you a bit better.”

Steve’s nose actually _wrinkles_ , and it may or may not be the cutest thing Bucky’s ever seen. “Uhm… you’re welcome? I think?” He chuckles. “It was nice getting to know you too. You should come by more often, if your cats will allow it. If you can overcome your flower phobia, that is.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but can’t stop his lips from curling into a grin. “I’m sure I’ll manage, and otherwise you’ll just have to hold my hand.”

Silence falls, and Bucky mentally curses himself for stupidly flirting with his obviously straight neighbour. Who wants to be _friends_.

Steve’s face takes on a mildly confused expression. ( _See? Straight.)_ “Uhm, sure, I guess? If that makes you feel… safe?”

Bucky wants to sink right through the hardwood floor. _Great job, Barnes, now you’ve made it awkward._ “Relax, Rogers, I’m kidding,” he says smoothly, and immediately continues: “Anyway, I should really go home." He takes a few steps towards the door. "I’ll see you around?”

Steve nods, getting up from his stool to _walk him to the door like a true gentleman_. Bucky's heart definitely can't take this. "Absolutely." Steve says, and opens the door for him.

Bucky would like to mention that he absolutely does _not_ flee. He just exits the shop in an orderly fashion. Really, really fast.

"Bye!" he shouts over his shoulder as he crosses the road.

"Take care!" Steve calls from the door, and _Mother of god_ , Bucky can see him _waving_ from his door step.

Nope. From this, his heart will never recover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's cats are named after the planet(!) Pluto and its moons.


End file.
